Con and Profile
by Rainey13
Summary: Neal and El get caught up in a violent bank robbery. Also features characters from Criminal Minds so some of it will make a little more sense if you know them too.  Rated for some violence and language.
1. Chapter 1

The non-descript van drove around the block once, twice, three times – not unusual in that part of the city where parking was scarce. No one paid it any mind as the driver finally found a space and expertly parallel parked in front of the office building, half a block down from the bank.

The tinted windows ensured that no one saw the four men inside as they settled in to wait.

The clock read 3:11, and they had seventeen minutes before it was time to go.

…..

"There you go, Mr. Halden. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No, thanks, Lindy. I'm fine, and I won't be long."

"Oh, take your time." she replied, tossing long blonde hair and a smile over her shoulder as she left.

Neal watched her go for a moment, clearly seeing the invitation in the way her hips had an extra swing to them as she walked away.

Sighing, he closed the door to the room and turned back to the table where the safety deposit box sat. Maybe one of these times he'd take Lindy up on that invitation…

But not today. He needed to finish up his business here, make a stop to replenish his wine collection, and get home. Promises made to June took precedence over flirting.

He opened the box, setting aside several IDs he had in reserve – just in case. Then he pulled out some cash before running his fingers lovingly over some jewelry at the bottom.

_What would Peter think if he knew that one of Neal's long-sought stashes was right here, so close – and in a bank to boot!_

Smiling, Neal replaced everything except the cash in the box, locked it up, and opened the door. He started toward the safety deposit vault, where Lindy would be waiting to lock up the box again.

The clock just outside the vault read 3:18. Perfect – time for a few minutes of flirting, maybe setting the stage for his next visit. Then he could be on his way when the bank closed.

…

"Hi, Vicki, it's El. Listen, I don't have the paperwork for the Kliner party with me. Can you pull the file and check what we have ordered from the florist? What? Yes, they've made some changes. Like adding twelve more people to the list. Oh, I know. But at least it's two days' notice instead of two hours. Right, I already talked to the caterer, but I didn't have the floral information. I know we ordered some extra, but see if we have enough for two more tables. Oh, I got the check from Melina Carter – and I'm right near a bank branch now. I'm going to stop and deposit it. And then if you can handle the flowers? Great, I'm just going to go home after this then. It's going to be a busy few days. Thanks Vicki!"

Elizabeth glanced at her watch – 3:20. Plenty of time before the bank closed. For personal banking she didn't mind using an ATM, but with a large client check she felt better making the deposit in person.

She walked in the door, nodding to the guard standing off to one side. Then she made her way to one of the counters and started filling out a deposit slip.

There weren't that many people here this close to closing time, which meant the line for the teller wasn't long. That was great – it wouldn't be long until she could be on her way. Peter wouldn't be expecting her to be home early, which meant she could get something special ready for dinner. And that might lead to something even better for dessert…

…

The clock in the van clicked over to 3:28 and four men exited, moving quickly but calmly. They were dressed in business suits, with briefcases in hand – and if those cases were a little larger than the norm, no one seemed to notice.

No one noticed, either, when they paused in the entryway to the bank, pulled on masks, and drew out weapons from those large cases.

The guard was already pulling the blinds on the front windows in preparation for closing when they walked in the door. Perfect – they'd cased this bank before, and knew that was his pattern. With the windows blocked, and the door legitimately locked at the end of the business day, it gave them plenty of time for their work.

Because really, what was the fun in simply robbing the place. There were other attractions here too.

The first man in went directly for the guard, an older man whose name badge identified him as Stan. With a gun pressed firmly to his forehead, Stan didn't have a chance to do anything as his gun was taken and he was pushed back into the middle of the room.

While one of the robbers locked the door and turned the sign from 'Open' to 'Closed,' the other two men rushed to the middle of the room, pointing their guns at the employees and customers.

"No one makes trouble, no one gets hurt!"

….

Neal walked out toward the lobby, smiling at something Lindy was saying. In truth, he wasn't really paying much attention, his mind already on his own plans, but he'd perfected the art of making people think he was totally in the zone with them, and only them. It was a skill that had come in handy many times in his past… his _alleged_ past anyway.

Something intruded on his thoughts though – an innate sense that things weren't right. The sounds coming from the bank lobby were off, not what they should be.

"Hands up! Get out here now!"

_Definitely not what they should be._ He raised his hands, looking down the barrel of a Glock held by a masked man in a black suit. Instinctively, he accessed what he knew about the bank; another carryover from his _alleged_ past life, he always looked for escape routes when he went in somewhere. But Lindy, clearly terrified and crying, was between him and the nearest exit. And the gunman's hand wasn't wavering in the slightest, so testing his resolve probably wasn't the best plan, at least not now.

He raised his hands slightly, indicating surrender, and stepped out into the lobby. There were three other gunmen that he could see, several employees, maybe half a dozen customers…

_Elizabeth?_

Long years of practice, from a shadowed past that wasn't nearly as _alleged_ as he liked to play it, allowed him to keep his reaction under control. He watched as two of the gunmen questioned the captives, pairing one couple up, sending singles off in another direction. And he decided on a role to play.

"Elizabeth! Honey?" Neal turned to his captor, pleading. "Please, that's my wife."

The man's grin was evident under the plastic mask. "Oh, we like couples," he said, in a voice that immediately made Neal uneasy. "Get over there!"

Neal didn't wait for a second invitation, heading quickly toward Elizabeth, hands still raised. He stumbled briefly against a potted plant by the teller's windows, putting his hands out to catch himself. _And dropping his cell phone into the pot._ He wished he'd had time to dial someone – like Peter – but with four guns, and a lot of frightened hostages, this wasn't the time. He'd just have to figure out a way to get back over to the plant later.

He reached Elizabeth and held out his arms, his eyes begging her to play along. And she did, hugging him tight. "Oh, Neal."

He held her tight, wanting to tell her it would be all right. But for all the lies he had told in his life, those were words that he just couldn't say.

"Awww, now ain't that sweet." One of the gunmen came over and shoved Neal down. "Get on the floor with the others."

As Neal and Elizabeth complied, one of the other robbers stepped forward. "All of you, toss your cell phones out in the middle of the floor."

Phones started appearing from around the room, sliding on the marble floor. Across the room, one of the gunmen was interrogating two of the women, who were pleading that their cell phones were in their purses, in the employee break room. They were being searched, just in case.

"And what about you, pretty boy?"

Neal looked up into the barrel of the same Glock that he'd seen up close just moments ago. He held his hands up slowly, deferentially. "I… I left it at the office," he stammered, finding plenty of motivation to play a fearful hostage. _And man he hated guns…_

"On the floor, face down. Hands behind your head."

He complied, moving slowly enough to study what was going on, but fast enough to prove he was cooperating. Rough hands searched him, patting down his pockets.

_At least he'd had the sense to put the cash in a money belt. But maybe he should have dropped his FBI credentials with the phone…_

The search ended, and a hand on his collar pulled him up.

One of the gunmen stepped up into the middle of the room. "Listen up! Do what you're told, and there's no reason anyone has to die. But remember, we have guns, and we will use them! Now, everyone undress."

"What?"

"What does he mean?"

"He can't mean that."

A single shot into the ceiling brought the muttering to a sudden stop. "Yes, he does mean it!" the gunman barked. "Now strip!"

Neal got slowly to his feet, helping Elizabeth up. He looked down to find her staring up at him, eyes wide.

"Neal?"

"It's a power play, Elizabeth," he whispered, as he shed his jacket and started to loosen his tie. "People will tend to be a lot less brave if they're naked."

He could see she was shaking as she kicked off her shoes. "Is Peter expecting you back?"

"No. He had a budget meeting, and I have a commitment with June this evening, so he told me I could go."

"But June…"

"Not for a few hours," he said quickly, not wanting to get her hopes up. "Your work?"

She shook her head, fingers fumbling with the buttons on her blouse. "I told them I was going home."

Neal managed to slide the money belt off with his trousers, hiding it in the fabric as he set it aside. Not that he couldn't replace the money if it came to that – but he wasn't sure that he wanted to deal with the questions that might arise if the robbers found him with that much money. _Besides, most of it was destined for June's charity event._

"I mean everything, people. Everything off!"

Neal looked back at Elizabeth. She was down to her bra and panties, while he was standing there in just his boxers. He could see the fear in her eyes, and he tried to keep his voice very calm. "Just keep your eyes on mine," he suggested. "Just my eyes. You can do this."

She nodded, took a deep breath, and reached back to unhook her bra. He made sure he stood between her and the gunmen, shielding her as much as he could. Chivalrous and all – but probably an empty gesture once everyone was naked. Still, it was all he could offer.

He hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers and dropped them down over his hips…

….


	2. Chapter 2

Neal chanced a glance at the clock – 3:41. The gunmen had managed to contain and humiliate the hostages in just over ten minutes.

Predictably, one of the gunmen had taken the bank manager and her assistant to the vault, while another supervised the emptying of the cash drawers with one of the tellers.

It was the two remaining gunmen who were giving him pause, however. They had stayed in the lobby area with the hostages – the very _naked_ hostages. And the men were having a little too much fun watching the discomfort of the people they were watching.

The fact that one of them was actively rubbing his crotch was disturbing, on multiple levels. It was lewd, and crude – and hinted that the men wanted something more than money.

_Hadn't he seen something about another robbery like this? It must have been in one of the myriad of files Peter always had him reviewing. It hadn't been their case, so he hadn't paid too much attention…_

Neal looked around, mostly moving just his eyes so that he wouldn't seem to be taking too much interest. In the process of undressing he'd managed to move a little closer to the plant where his cell phone waited – but not close enough to actually get at it without attracting attention. And although the gunmen were leering at everyone, they held their guns steady, and he had no illusions about them not being ready to shoot.

The lack of clothing was taking its desired toll on his fellow hostages. Most of them were simply huddled, curled into as small a package as possible, to hide as much as possible. No one met his eyes, which did not bode well for getting any help to resolve the situation.

Having spent four years in communal showers, Neal figured the nudity probably bothered him less than most of the others. Well, except for one little problem, which was becoming a growing problem. Elizabeth's reaction had been to curl up against his side, pressing as close as she could. Her breasts were digging into his side and, despite his considerable will power to the contrary, his traitorous body was responding. So, he sat with one arm around her trembling shoulders, and one covering his groin. At least that made him blend in with the other hostages.

Movement across the lobby caught his attention, and took his mind off of his own issues. One of the gunmen – he had nicknamed the man Browning, for the gun he carried – was standing over a young couple, the gun at the man's head.

"I said take her!" Browning shouted. "She's your girlfriend, right? So do it, or I shoot right now."

"Neal?"

He felt Elizabeth trying to press even closer, and his arm tightened around her. But he couldn't tear his eyes away from the terrified young couple. Couldn't look away as they were forced together, sobbing…

Elizabeth's face turned into his shoulder and he felt the dampness as she cried.

Browning moved on to an older couple only a few feet away. "Next happy couple, huh?"

The man – Neal pegged him as early sixties, and he was usually pretty close – shook his head slowly. "Please, I can't!"

"Come on, pops. The little lady is begging for at."

From Neal's point of view, it looked like the lady was close to passing out, and not begging for anything except to be left alone.

"I can't…"

There was a collective gasp from the hostages as Browning swung his gun, bringing it down against the man's temple. The older man fell back, his glasses knocked askew, blood pouring down his face.

A scream off to one side caught Neal's attention, and he looked just in time to see one of the gunmen who had disappeared before into the vault, now dragging Lindy off to one side.

Then another scream took him back to Browning, who had the sobbing older woman pinned with his foot while he unbuckled his pants and let them drop.

His earlier ministrations with his hand had worked. That was obvious before he dropped onto the woman, who screamed again.

Movement, and he saw the gunman who had been emptying the drawers climb onto the desk in the middle of the floor, gun at the ready as he covered the hostages.

That only left…

Even as Neal thought about the fourth man, the Glock reappeared in his face.

"And now for the other happy couple," the man sneered.

_Why had he told them he and Elizabeth were married…_

Another scream, which he was pretty sure came from Lindy, reminded him that Elizabeth wouldn't have been safe anyway. But he couldn't…

The gun banged against the tracking anklet. "Whatta we got here?"

Neal shrugged, buying a moment to plant a cover in his mind. "There might have been some insider trading," he said, trying to look ashamed.

"And that beauty stuck with you even when you fucked up? Must really be love."

Neal didn't respond, but he tensed as the barrel of the gun traced along his jaw.

"Of course, a pretty boy like you, maybe I'd like you for myself."

The slightest glimmer of hope sparked within Neal, though he carefully pasted a mask of fear on his face. "What do you mean?" he asked, putting a tremor in his voice. _If the man focused on him, and left Elizabeth alone…_

The gunman just laughed. "Aww, but that ain't the plan, much as I might enjoy it. No, you're gonna take your pretty little wife."

Neal started to shake his head – only to have the butt of the gun come down against his temple. He gasped, drawing in deep breaths and trying to clear his head.

"I said, take her."

His vision was still blurred, but he felt Elizabeth pulling away, leaning back, pulling him with her.

_Oh, no no no no no…_

The gun followed him down, still at his temple. "Now you're catchin' on."

There was another scream somewhere behind him, but it barely registered. All he could see was Elizabeth's face, the tears on her cheeks.

"Take her, pretty boy."

Neal started to shake his head, but the gun stopped him. "Then maybe I'll shoot you and take her myself," the voice hissed.

_This was really a no-win situation – and people wondered why he didn't like guns._

He laid his body over Elizabeth's pressing close. They could fake this…

Elizabeth gasped as her leg was pulled up, and then the gunman was back, the gun between them.

"No faking!" the man growled. The gun came back toward Neal, and then suddenly the man pressed it against Elizabeth's head. "Better idea. You do this, or I'll blow her head off, and still make you take her."

Neal locked eyes with Elizabeth, his most sincere apology in his look. She was still crying, but he could also see a resolve there that didn't surprise him. Her hands were on his shoulders, pulling him in. "I'm sorry," he mouthed, and she nodded.

_And if they survived this, Peter was going to kill him…_

* * *

Spent, Neal pulled away, rolling off to one side. A sob escaped his throat, and it wasn't a con.

Behind him, he heard the gunman laughing, and then steps moving away.

He took a couple of deep breaths to steady himself, and then chanced a glance over his shoulder. For the moment, no one was looking his way.

Slowly, not wanting to draw any attention, he slid toward the plant and retrieved his phone. But there was someone moving…

He'd always known she was beautiful and intelligent, but Neal added brave to the description as Elizabeth moved in front of him, providing a screen.

Hands trembling, he composed a quick text, and hit Speed Dial #1. Then, making sure the ringer was turned off, he hid the phone again.

Finally, unsure if she would consider his touch welcome or repulsive, he reached out a hand to Elizabeth's shoulder. Her body trembled with a silent sob, and then she turned back to him, and he held her tight as all around them people were crying and screaming.

And then there was a single gunshot…

* * *

Peter walked out of the conference room, switching his phone back on as he walked. It rang almost immediately, and he looked down to see June's name in the caller box.

"June? What can I do for you? No, Neal isn't here. He's not answering his phone? No, he's not doing anything for me, he left early. He said he had a couple of errands before your event tonight. Is there something… All right, sure."

He disconnected the call, puzzled. It wasn't like Neal not to answer his phone. Still, it wasn't like he'd been out of contact for that long and if there was one thing Peter knew for a fact it was that Neal would not leave June in the lurch.

His phone buzzed with an incoming text message and he pulled it up, noting Neal's ID. So obviously the man hadn't disappeared…

**TRK ME! HELP!**

The short message was enough to send chills up Peter's spine.

"Jones! Neal's tracking information! Find him!"

The younger agent didn't bother to ask any questions, simply went to work on the computer as Peter ran down the steps. "Got him, about a mile from here. He's not out of his radius."

One glance at the screen of Peter's phone and Jones turned back to the computer, accessing another database. "It's the Midland Bank."

Peter was already heading for the door. "Let's go. Diana!"

The two junior agents rushed to follow as Peter stabbed worriedly at the button for the elevator.

…


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N: I consider this a White Collar fic, with assistance from the characters from Criminal Minds, who show up in this chapter. That said, if you're familiar with CM, hopefully you'll appreciate some of the character touches. If not, remember they're the profilers, and in this story really serve as a means for Neal to work toward a resolution of the case while Peter is dealing with more personal issues._**

* * *

The clock on the wall read 4:24 as Neal contemplated the broken lock on the storage room door. The hostages had been sequestered in here as the robbers left with their duffle bags filled with cash.

Well, all but one of the hostages.

_The sight of Lindy's body, lying in a pool of blood…_

He shook his head once to banish that vision. There would be time later.

"Can you open it?"

Neal nodded once as he looked over his shoulder at Elizabeth. "There's got to be something in here I can use." _He was Neal Caffrey, and no storage room lock, broken or not, was going to defeat him._

He rummaged in a couple of bins, coming out with a small screwdriver and a letter opener with a very narrow point. Even with the makeshift tools, it was less than a minute before the door popped open.

"I'm going to make sure they're really gone," he said softly. "So stay here."

Strangely enough, no one argued, but then he felt a hand on his arm, and he knew who it was without looking.

"Neal?"

He patted her hand gently and then pulled away. "I'll be fine," he whispered, and he slipped out.

He felt curiously underdressed for the occasion as he moved carefully through the hallway. It had less to do with the fact that he still didn't have any clothes than with the fact that he was armed only with a screwdriver and a letter opener. But everything was quiet, and as he neared the lobby he was all but sure that the gunmen really had vacated the bank.

Of course, 'all but sure' wasn't the same as 100% positive, so when he reached the lobby he crouched down, scanning the room with all of his senses. Everything told him he was alone, and he'd very rarely been wrong, back when he was doing this for a living.

Neal stood up and walked into the lobby, still looking around but moving faster. He started to check on Lindy, hoping against hope that she might have survived…

When he saw the amount of blood, gray matter from her brain mixed in, he knew that hope had been proved wrong.

He made his way behind the teller cages, hesitating only a moment before pushing the alarm button. _Well, there was a first time for everything…_ The alarm bells sounded, lights flashed, and for once he was happy about it.

Climbing over the counter he grabbed his phone and… _One new message, from Peter._

**COMING**

That was both a relief and a cause for concern. But hey, it would be a little while yet before the concern part came up. _Yeah, Peter, about your wife…_

He shook his head, refusing to go there. The police would be there any moment, and he intended to _not_ meet them without any clothes.

He found the piles of clothing where the gunmen had had a couple of the hostages put them, everything in a big heap in one corner. Fortunately, it appeared he was the only man who insisted on silk boxers, so they were easy to find. And his trousers were there…

There was pounding on the door, and he thought he heard his name.

Boxers on, trousers, and money belt, in hand, he went to the door, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw Peter, Jones, and Diana. The lock required a key, even from the inside, and this one was a bit more secure than the one on the storage room. By the time he had it open, he could hear sirens getting close.

"Neal, what happened?"

"There were four guys, Peter, with guns. BIG guns."

"They're gone?" Jones asked quickly.

"Yeah, they're gone."

Diana had her gun drawn, looking around. "More hostages?"

Neal nodded. "They locked us in the back. I got the door open and came out to make sure the gunmen were gone. I didn't know if you'd gotten my message so I hit the alarm."

"_You_ set off the alarm?" Diana asked, smirking.

Neal shrugged. "Seemed like a good idea."

"It was," Peter said slowly, and Neal could feel the agent's eyes on him. "Neal, why are you in your boxers?"

"Well, they made everyone strip." _The rest of the details could come later._ "The others would probably appreciate their clothes before the police come in," he added, seeing the first cruisers pull up. He pointed at the pile of clothing in the corner.

"Jones, Diana." Peter pointed at the clothes and the two junior agents nodded. They gathered up as much as they could carry, pausing only to let Neal extract his shirt, and then headed the way that Neal pointed.

Peter had started outside to meet the police, his badge held high. But Neal knew he had to know…

"Peter."

"In a minute, Neal. Don't want the NYPD coming in shooting."

_Well, no, that would be bad. But…_ "Peter, Elizabeth was one of the hostages."

The agent's step faltered, and he turned to look at Neal, his face paler than the younger man had ever seen. "El? Is she…"

"She wasn't hurt," Neal replied carefully. And that was true, as far as it went. _Forced to have sex with your partner, whom you are probably going to kill when you find out, but not otherwise hurt…_

Peter nodded, seemed to take a deep breath, and then squared his shoulders, meeting the wary police who were approaching the building. "Peter Burke, FBI. The perpetrators are gone, but we have hostages coming out. We're going to need more units." He turned back to look at Neal. "Ambulances?"

Neal nodded. "A few people were hurt." _As in pistol-whipped._ "And one dead."

Peter gave a quick nod and turned back to the police. "Get some ambulances, and the medical examiner. When the detectives get here, have them find me."

Neal could actually see the moment when Peter switched from being an FBI agent to being a worried husband. His shoulders sagged, and deep lines appeared around his eyes. "Neal, where…?"

The question was never finished.

"Peter!"

Neal watched as she ran out toward the door, blouse and skirt askew, but with her husband in sight, she didn't seem to care, or even notice.

She fell into Peter's arms and he caught her, holding her like the most precious thing he had ever seen. And Neal knew that was true.

He stepped away slowly, definitely not wanting to intrude. He wasn't sure he could ever face Elizabeth again – and why should she ever, _ever_ want to see him? And as for Peter?

Well, hopefully it would be merciful and quick.

* * *

JJ stopped them at the door, shaking her head. "Don't leave yet."

Emily groaned. "Oh, don't tell me."

"No rest for the wicked," Morgan supplied.

"Speak for yourself," Emily insisted, swatting his arm. "I'm just weary, not wicked."

"What kind of case?" Reid asked.

"Bank robbery in New York," JJ said. "With special circumstances, and one dead. Aaron took the call himself, and he said to tell you wheels up in thirty."

"What about Rossi?"

"He was with Aaron. They'll meet us at the plane."

The agents of the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit – the profilers – knew that their talents were often the only tools that led to closed cases. And so, despite the weariness, despite the fact that they had just come back from a long, difficult, case, there was no more discussion. As one they moved back into the office to grab the 'go' bags they kept at the ready and then headed for the airstrip.

* * *

It was just after 9:00 when Neal finally stumbled into his apartment. He tossed his suit coat haphazardly in the direction of the couch, not even caring when he missed and it fell to the floor. Definitely not like him…

_Then again, it hadn't exactly been one of his normal days. Had it?_

The rest of his clothes disappeared as he headed for the shower. Maybe the hot water would help, wash away the stink of the day.

_But nothing would wash away the memories…_

* * *

"All right, I know it's late, but this time they killed someone, so they're escalating. I want to get to a couple of the key witnesses tonight." Aaron Hotchner searched through the files in front of him. "One of the hostages, Elizabeth Burke, is the wife of the FBI agent who responded first."

"Peter Burke," David Rossi supplied. "I met him, long time ago. Back in my first tour with the Bureau."

Aaron nodded. "That might help. Take Prentiss with you." He handed the file over and then picked up another one. "Morgan, you and JJ head over to the bank. The district manager should be there by now. See if there's anything new he can offer."

"What about you, Hotch?" JJ asked.

Aaron picked up a third file. "Reid and I are going to talk to Neal Caffrey."

"Wait, isn't he the ex-con who works for Burke?" Morgan asked.

"And something of a partner to Burke," Rossi added.

"Still, an ex-con," Morgan argued. "Are you sure you don't want a little more back-up?"

Reid looked up from the file he was studying. "Actually, Caffrey was always non-violent, preferring crimes that required intelligence, not force. And he was apparently quite instrumental in freeing the hostages and notifying the authorities."

Aaron nodded. "The police seem to have focused on his past more than on asking the right questions about today. He may have more information that could be useful. I'm sure Reid and I can handle it." He paused, looking around at his team. "I know we're all tired, and we still have a lot of work ahead of us. Do these things, get what you can, and then get some sleep. We'll meet back here at 8:00 tomorrow."

* * *

Maybe it was the wine, or the pent-up emotion of the day. Or waiting for the axe to fall…

Whatever the reason, it seemed to have heightened Neal's artistic talents. He was sketching, faster than he ever had, but overall he was happy with the detail he was getting. And he needed to get these images out – out of his head, onto paper.

He got up, glancing over to where his cell phone was charging. _Not that he expected Peter to call. No, more likely the Marshals would just burst in…_

* * *

Peter answered the door, gun in hand. Not the way he usually liked to do things in his own house, but it seemed appropriate tonight, especially this late. "Who is it?"

"Peter? It's SSA Dave Rossi. We met a while back."

Peter pointed the gun down and opened the door. "Yeah, I remember," he said, stepping back to let the visitors in. "I'd heard you came back to the BAU."

"Like a bad penny," Rossi agreed. "This is Emily Prentiss."

Peter nodded at the dark-haired woman, then tuned back to Rossi. "It's kind of late, Dave."

"I know. But if we could have a quick word with your wife, it would really help."

"El's been through a lot."

"You know that we suspect these men of other robberies?" Emily asked. Peter nodded so she continued. "We're concerned that killing the woman today represents an escalation. If we can just clarify a few things tonight, that will really help."

"It's all right, Peter." Elizabeth walked into the front room from the kitchen, her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee. "I'm not really sure I could sleep anyway."

Peter sighed and made the introductions. "This is Dave Rossi and Emily Prentiss. They're from the Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico."

"We develop profiles on suspects," Rossi explained.

Elizabeth nodded. "I'm not sure what else I can tell you. I told the police everything I could remember."

"If it's all right, Mrs. Burke, we'd just like to go over a few things," Prentiss said.

"Of course." She sat down in a chair and waited.

"Can I get you coffee?" Peter offered.

"No, but thanks. We just got back from a tough case and I, for one, don't need any caffeine to keep me up when I finally get to the hotel." Rossi looked to Prentiss and she nodded in agreement.

"I'm curious," Rossi continued. "Did these men give any indication of how they knew each other?"

Elizabeth thought for a moment before shaking her head. "No, I don't think so. They didn't really talk to each other much. They just gave orders." She reached out to set the cup down, her hands shaking. "Can I ask you a question?"

Emily nodded. "Yes, of course."

Elizabeth took a deep breath, seeming to search for words. Peter moved over behind her, a hand reassuringly on her shoulder. "Is it… is it normal, what they did? I mean, taking that extra time, and making us…"

"No it's not normal," Rossi answered gently. "Not unheard of, but definitely not common. The longer they're in the bank, the more chance that they'll be discovered."

"We call them sexual sadists," Emily added. "They get off on the power of making people do things – sexual things – against their will."

"When we have seen this," Rossi continued, "it's almost always just one suspect. For four men to be working together like this… Well, it's something new."

"They killed that poor woman," Elizabeth whispered, and Peter strengthened his grip on her shoulder.

"Which is something they didn't do in the two other robberies we think they're involved with," Rossi supplied. "But it means they're getting even more dangerous. So just a few questions…"

…


	4. Chapter 4

He had just opened the second bottle of wine when the knock on the door came. For a moment he considered not answering…

_Well, if it's the Marshals, they're coming in anyway. Might as well be hospitable._

Neal opened the door, studying the two men standing there. The older one, dark hair and wearing a suit, looked every inch a cop of some sort. The younger one though, with his slightly disheveled appearance and dressed casually, looked more like a college student.

"Neal Caffrey?"

Neal nodded as the cop-type pulled out a leather wallet and flipped it open to show an FBI badge. "I'm SSA Aaron Hotchner, and this is Doctor Spencer Reid. We're from the Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico."

"Profilers," Neal supplied.

Aaron nodded. "I know it's late, but we'd like to ask you a few questions, if that's all right."

Neal responded with a short laugh, more bitter than humorous. "Sure, why not," he said, stepping back to let the two men in. He stepped back over to the counter and picked up the bottle of wine and two more glasses. "Join me?" he asked as he led them to the table.

"Well, we're working," Reid started.

"Oh, come on," Neal argued. "Like you said, it's late. I've certainly had a long day, and I'm sure you have too. Besides, it might be the last time I get to share a bottle of good wine for a while."

"Why is that?" Reid asked.

Neal poured the wine, making sure to add a little extra to his own glass. It gave him time to study the younger man, decide if that was a real question or a set-up line. _But the kid really seemed genuinely puzzled._ "Well, the supermax is not exactly known for its fine wine cellar," he finally said as he handed the glasses over.

"So you think you're going back to prison? Why?"

Neal took a long sip, letting the wine roll over his tongue before swallowing. "Let's see, maybe because I had carnal knowledge of my partner's wife," he replied softly. "I figure either the Marshals show up, or maybe we skip that part and he just shoots me."

"There were four men with guns there, right? Orchestrating all of this?"

Neal turned to study Hotchner, now that the older man had finally asked a question. He knew the agent had been studying him while Reid took the first few questions. "Yes."

"What is it you think you could have done differently?"

Neal shrugged. "I don't know," he admitted. "Just… something. I should have protected her."

"Sometimes things happen and there's really nothing we can do to control it," Reid said.

Neal just shrugged again and reached over to gather the papers on the table. "I've been trying to capture what happened, as much detail as I could remember. I don't know if they'll help or not."

Hotchner and Reid each looked at a few of the sketches. "These are incredibly detailed," Aaron said, pausing and looking up.

"I could do better with more time. But I wasn't sure if I'd have that. Time, I mean. Or maybe I'll have nothing but time."

"Walk me through some of this." Aaron prompted.

Neal sighed and sorted through some of the sketches, laying four of them out. "These are the gunmen. Glock Guy, Sig, Browning, and Glock 2." He noted Reid's questioning look and explained further. "Just nicknames I gave them based on the guns they carried. Glock, Sig Sauer, Browning, and another Glock. I never heard them use any real names."

"So why Glock Guy – almost like a full name – and then Glock 2?"

Neal picked up the sketch of Glock Guy, staring at it for a long moment before answering. "Because this is the guy that put a gun in my face when I came up from the safety deposit vault," he said softly. "He gave me this," he added, pointing to the cut and bruise along his temple. "And he's the one who threatened to shoot me, and then Elizabeth, unless I…"

"So it's more personal with him," Reid suggested.

"Very personal." Neal reached for another sketch. "Sig was the one in charge."

"How do you know that?"

"He was the one who identified the manager and the head teller. He sent Glock 2 down to the vault, while he stayed up front to empty the drawers and watch things. He's the one who decided when it was time to leave. And he's the one who decided where to lock us up."

"Did he participate in the rapes?"

"No. He was up on the center desk, keeping everyone covered with his gun."

"Do you know which one actually killed the woman?" Aaron was flipping through his file, looking for the name.

"Lindy Hollis," Neal said softly.

"Yes, Lindrelle Elaine Hollis."

"Lindrelle." Neal said the name, as if testing it out. "I didn't know that. I just knew her as Lindy."

"You knew her personally?" Reid asked.

"She worked in the safety deposit vault, which is where I was. We'd been flirting, like we usually did when I was there." Neal paused, sipping his wine. "I was thinking, I had something I was supposed to do tonight, but maybe next time I'd actually ask her out…" His voice trailed off and he reached over and tapped one of the sketches. "This one, Glock 2. He shot her."

"Did you see what happened?"

Neal shook his head. "No. I had… had just… just finished… with Elizabeth." He took a deep breath, gathering himself. "Glock guy turned away, and Sig was looking somewhere else. That's when I got to my phone and sent a text to Peter… Agent Burke." He reached over and pulled out another sketch, this one of part of the lobby. "I was here," he said, pointing to a spot near the teller windows. "I'd hidden my phone here, in the plant. And Lindy was over here." He pointed to a spot on the other side. "But Glock 2 was the one who raped her, and he was the one with the gun over here when I looked after I heard the shot."

"And between them they raped two other women and one man?"

Neal used his sketch as a map. "Browning had the older woman pinned here, and then he and Glock 2 forced the man, one of the customers, over here. Glock Guy grabbed one of the tellers over there."

"We'll check those areas for semen."

"They came prepared though," Neal said. "They were wearing condoms. But here." He pulled another sketch in, this one a close-up of the center desk in the lobby. "Sig had cut himself somehow, right through his glove. When he jumped up on the desk he put his hand right under here. I'll bet there's blood." He grabbed another sketch, this one of the office area near the back. "And Browning took his gloves off after they finished with the customer. He was looking at his hands like they got sweaty or something. And he put one right about here on the glass when he got up. There might be prints."

"You are very observant," Reid noted.

"A skill that came in handy in my previous profession."

"But most of this isn't in the summary of your police statement," Aaron said.

That earned another short, bitter laugh from Neal. "You mean my three hour _interrogation_? The police were more interested in trying to prove that it couldn't possibly be a coincidence that I was there at the bank when it happened to get robbed. I tried to talk about some of this – it should be on video, you can check that. But they just kept going back to the fact that I have a criminal record." He paused, shrugged. "That's why I was drawing all of this. I figured someone, sooner or later, would want to listen."

"I'm listening," Aaron said. "What else?"

* * *

He didn't hear the door open, didn't even know he wasn't still alone until he felt the hand on his shoulder.

"Peter?"

"I thought you were trying to sleep."

"Strangely enough, I'm having a little trouble with that." Elizabeth sat down beside him. "Why are you sitting out here on the back steps?"

Peter sighed, looking up at the sky. This close to the city there weren't many visible stars, but a few twinkled here and there. "Thinking," he said softly.

"About?"

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "I could have lost you today."

"But you didn't."

"They killed a woman, El. It could have been you."

"Peter…"

"I don't know what I'd do if lost you," he admitted softly. "If I'd been there…"

"Honey, there were four of them. Even with a gun, what could you have done? Would you have risked all of the hostages, including me… and Neal?"

He stiffened at the name, tried to correct it quickly, but he knew she had noticed.

"Peter, it wasn't his fault."

He sat silently for a moment, jaw clenched, before nodding tightly. "I know. In my head, I know that."

"But?" Elizabeth prompted. "Peter, look at me."

He turned, looking into her eyes. The pain he saw there nearly broke his heart.

"Do you blame me?"

"What?" He shook his head and pulled her close. "No. No. No, El, never."

"Then you need to forgive him, Peter. Because if you blame him, you have to blame me too."

Sometimes it scared him how well she knew him, he reflected, as he held her tight. "There are only four men to blame, and we're going to find them." He kissed her forehead, reflecting on the good fortune that made her part of his life. "I'll talk to Neal tomorrow."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

* * *

"It was the perfect time to hit."

"Is it when you would have planned a robbery?" Reid asked.

"Me?" Neal smiled and shook his head. "No. A sophisticated con works better early in the day, before people get into a rhythm. Or around lunch – just before, when they're making plans, or just after, when they're full and maybe a little tired. No, if you've seen my file, you know I was never a gun guy."

Aaron nodded. "But for these four?"

"It was perfect. The bank employees would be expected to work a little later, balancing out cash drawers, closing out accounts. So no one would be expecting them right after 3:30. And the customers? Even if you're stopping at the bank, how many people would tell someone else exactly when and how long? Once the bank is closed, why would you look there for anyone?"

"Even people not answering their cell phones would be overlooked for a while," Reid added.

"Sure," Neal agreed. "You can lose reception in the subway. There are a couple of dead areas by Wall Street. If there's an event at the United Nations the security scanners can interfere with a signal."

"And that late in the day, most customers probably weren't expected back at work," Aaron said.

"They could be pretty sure that if they got in without raising the alarm, they'd have time to complete the robbery," Neal concluded. "And… everything else."

Aaron nodded. "The first of the three robberies this group is suspected of took place earlier in the day. They got the hostages undressed but someone managed to trip the alarm."

"And the second job?"

"Closer to closing time. More brutal – seven hostages needed medical care."

Neal sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "So they're learning." He reached for the final two sketches. "At least two of them had done time before. Glock Guy and Browning. They had tattoos on their wrists, hands, neck." He pushed one of the sketches over, pointing. "These are definitely prison tats."

"But they weren't familiar?" Reid asked.

"You mean did I know them? Oh, the police are going to love that theory."

"I wasn't suggesting you were involved," Reid said quickly. "I just…"

"No, it's a fair question," Neal said wearily, leaning back in his chair. "It was just a very long three hours. At least you guys are listening. And the answer is no, there was nothing about any of them that I recognized. I mean, the whole bullshit that a gun makes you tough isn't exactly uncommon in prison. And the truth is, we might very well have done time together. I tried to avoid gun guys as much as possible."

"What's this one?" Aaron asked, tapping another partial tattoo sketch at the bottom of the page.

"That was on Sig's neck." Neal's brow furrowed as he stared at it. "It looks like the top of a key, and I kept thinking I should recognize it from somewhere. But I can't quite place it."

Aaron nodded, making a couple of notes. Then he tapped the final sketch. "What about this one."

Neal leaned forward again, studying what he had drawn. "She's one of the account managers, I think."

"Why did you draw her?"

"There was something off about the way she was reacting," Neal replied. He closed his eyes, picturing the scene. "She was acting scared, but that's just it – it really seemed like she was acting."

Reid pulled out a page from the official report. "Could be Margaret Kohler."

"You're the agents, so take this as you will. But I'd check her out."

"Maybe an inside job?"

Neal gave a half shrug, half nod. "As I was reminded – many times – tonight, I'm not an investigator."

"Maybe not," Aaron said, gathering up the drawings. "But you are an extremely observant eyewitness, not to mention a Bureau consultant. I'd like you to work with us on this."

"Yeah, I'd like that," Neal replied. _It wasn't as though Peter was going to want him around…_

"I'll arrange it then. We're set up at the Midtown North precinct."

_Oh, that should be fun to walk back in there…_

As if reading his mind, Aaron leaned forward. "Neal, you've given us some pieces of the puzzle that might help us break this. I'll make sure the police know that."

"Thanks."

Aaron glanced at his watch and sighed. "I know it's late, but we can't let this sit too long. We'll pick you up at 7:00?"

"Yeah, that's fine. And I have a contact who might be able to pick up some information on the streets. He might even know something about that key tattoo." Neal smiled at Reid. "He remembers things, a lot like you."

"Maybe he could meet us at the station."

That got a genuine laugh from Neal. "Uh, no, I don't think that's going to happen." _Ever since his near-death experience, Mozzie's paranoia had risen to new, nearly astronomical heights. Cooperating with the Feds was not high on his list of things to do – but he would do it for Mrs. Suit._

Aaron's lips twitched into a half smile. "Can you get him here? We can set him up with a video conference with our tech analyst."

"Yeah. And I have everything we need for that on my laptop."

Aaron nodded and stood up, gathering his things. "Then we'll see you in the morning." He held out his hand. "Thank you, Neal."

Neal shook hands with both agents and saw them to the door. When they started down the stairs he closed the door and leaned against it, sighing.

_It was nice to be listened to, and it would be extra sweet to be involved in catching these guys. If nothing else, he owed it to Elizabeth._

_And now he just needed to convince Mozzie…_

….


	5. Chapter 5

Neal was just adjusting his tie when the knock came on the door – 6:56. That meant it had to be Hotchner and Reid. Mozzie would never deign to be four minutes early.

He picked up his cup of coffee and went to the door, opening it to admit the agents. "Good morning."

"Hi, Neal." Reid walked in, immediately perking up. "What is that aroma?"

Neal smiled and lifted his cup. "Coffee. Really _real_ coffee. It's an Italian roast that June, the woman who owns this house, has flown in direct from the Continent." He gestured out onto the patio. "Help yourself."

It didn't take a second invitation for Reid. "I'll bring you a cup, Hotch."

Aaron nodded and looked at Neal. "Did you get a hold of your contact?"

"He should be here in a few minutes."

"Our tech analyst is really very good at digging information out on her own."

"But how well does she know the streets of New York?"

"Point taken." Aaron sat down at the table, where Neal had his laptop out and ready. He activated the camera and typed in the URL Garcia had given him. A moment later the tech office in Quantico popped up on the screen.

"Greetings, oh leader, sir."

Neal grinned as he watched Aaron roll his eyes at the greeting. He liked this analyst already.

"Hi Garcia," Reid called, handing Hotch a cup of steaming dark coffee.

"Greetings, greetings."

"Did you get the scans, Garcia?"

"Received and uploaded," she confirmed. "The artist is amazing."

"He's right here," Aaron said, motioning Neal closer. "Penelope Garcia, meet Neal Caffrey."

Neal leaned in toward the screen, studying the image. Blond hair tinged with pink, big rhinestone-encrusted glasses, gaudy jewelry, a brightly flowered top – style-wise, everything he was not. But the choices pegged her as a free spirit, and he liked that. He turned on his best smile. "Hi, Penelope."

"Oh, my."

Neal looked up at the other two men, wondering if he'd done something. But Aaron just shook his head and leaned back in toward the camera. "Garcia, you understand what we're looking for?"

"What? Oh, ummm, yes, I have it. I mean, I understand."

Neal took the opportunity to slide out of the chair, and just in time as there was a knock on the door. _7:00, right on time_. "Hey, Moz."

Mozzie stood stubbornly in the hall, staring inside. "I don't like this," he announced without preamble.

"I know," Neal replied, pulling the other man in. "But remember, it's for Elizabeth."

"And it's only because it's for Mrs. Suit that I'm doing this."

Neal didn't even bother with introductions to Hotchner and Reid; Mozzie wouldn't care. Instead he led him to the chair in front of the laptop. "That's Penelope Garcia. She's the technical analyst at Quantico who's going to work with you. Penelope, this is… Haversham." _Of all Mozzie's aliases, it worked as well as any._

Mozzie just grunted. "I don't like working with Suits," he grumbled.

"Funny, I don't much like suits either. In fact, I think I only have one. It's chartreuse."

Mozzie noticeably perked up and for the first time looked at the screen. "Chartreuse? Really? That's my second favorite color."

"Oh, I like lots of colors."

Mozzie started to say something, but caught himself. "Don't think you can sweet talk me. I know what you're doing. You want me to let my guard down so you can back-hack me and learn my secrets."

"Nope, I'm under orders to behave."

"Well, I'll be watching," Mozzie warned, shaking his finger at the image. "Any sign of funny stuff and I toss the computer over the balcony."

Neal scowled and leaned in closer. "Uh, Moz, that's my laptop. I'd really rather you didn't."

"I'll take that under advisement." He reached down and opened his pack, pulling out another laptop. "In any event, I'll be using my own – _heavily encrypted_ – computer for the real work. So don't even think about trying to trace it or hack it," he warned, shaking his finger again.

"Scout's honor!"

Neal backed toward the door, grabbing his suit coat on the way. The two FBI agents followed silently and they slipped onto the landing.

"Interesting source," Aaron said as they started downstairs.

"Interesting analyst," Neal countered.

"But very effective."

Neal grinned. "Mine too."

* * *

Morgan walked into the conference room the police had assigned them as a work space and stopped dead in his tracks. There was something unnatural about the way JJ and Emily were staring at him, grinning. "What?" he asked, looking down. "Did I forget my pants or something?"

JJ laughed. "Oh, nothing like that."

"Maybe something better," Prentiss added.

Morgan looked to Rossi for help, but the older agent just shook his head and looked back down at the report in his hand. "Not getting involved."

"So, spill," Derek said, looking back to the two women.

They exchanged another glance, with a certain smile that he found unsettling, and then JJ explained. "Garcia said she's found someone to rival you in the _foxiness_ department."

For a moment, Derek was stunned. "No, my baby girl wouldn't say that."

JJ laughed. "Oh, but she did."

Derek considered that for a moment, and then twisted his hips a few times. "Well, can he match me on the dance floor?"

"Maybe we'll find out," Prentiss replied, trying so hard not to laugh. "It's that consultant, Neal Caffrey. He's coming in with Hotch and Reid."

Derek scowled and sat down at the table. _Who in the world could this guy be if Garcia thought he, Derek Morgan, was being out-foxied?_

* * *

It was just before 8:00 when they walked into the precinct house. And it was much more comfortable than the day before, Neal reflected. At least he felt like he was being treated more as a colleague than as a suspect.

So far he liked these profilers; hopefully the rest of the team would be as good.

They walked into the conference room and Aaron made the introductions. "This is Neal Caffrey. He's a consultant for the local White Collar division, but he was also one of the hostages yesterday. I've arranged to have him assigned to this team while we're here. Neal, agents Jennifer Jareau, Emily Prentiss, Dave Rossi, and Derek Morgan."

Neal nodded a greeting to each in turn – until he got to Morgan. The other man's eyes were narrowed, a look of skepticism on his face. _Well, he wouldn't be the first FBI agent not to trust an ex-con._ "Is there a problem?" he asked quietly.

Derek grinned, breaking the tension. He stood up, extending his hand. "Just sizing up my competition in the _foxy_ department."

Neal shook hands, still puzzled.

Hotch rolled his eyes and sighed. "Garcia?"

"She might have mentioned something," Emily confirmed.

Rossi finally took pity on Neal's confused look. "It's kind of a joke within the team," he explained.

"Garcia has always had a bit of a crush on Derek," JJ added. "But now she's thrown a challenger into the ring."

"Hey, I am still the foxy king until further notice," Derek said.

"It's just kind of a harmless joke among the team," Rossi continued. "But we've all taken our required sexual harassment courses. If it makes you uncomfortable…"

Neal grinned and sat down at the table. "Not at all, now that I understand. You know, I don't think I've ever been called foxy before. _Wily_, maybe. Definitely brilliant. And a bunch of things I don't repeat. But not _foxy._"

"Yeah, you and me are gonna have to talk," Derek said.

"Well, hopefully no one minds if we get back to the case for now," Aaron said, breaking in.

There was a collective change in mood around the table, levity set aside in favor of work. Neal watched as folders were opened, and Reid pulled up a report on a computer, projecting it onto a screen. Neal settled in to pay attention, and offer what he could. But inside, the teasing welcome made him feel good.

_Yeah, he liked these profilers._

* * *

Peter watched absently as the floor numbers flashed by on the elevator display, going up. About the time the number hit sixteen he realized he was almost there, and he rubbed his hands over his face, hoping to wipe away some of the weariness.

The 21st floor was oddly welcoming as he opened the glass doors and walked in. Maybe it was mainly the fact that the surroundings were so familiar. After the upheaval his life had suffered yesterday, he needed that.

Glancing around, he noticed that Neal's desk was empty, the computer not even on. Well, maybe the man had called in sick after yesterday, or maybe Hughes had told him to stay home – the same message Peter had gotten.

_And yet here he was…_

Jones and Diana were nowhere to be seen either, he noted. So maybe Neal was with them.

"Peter!"

He looked up, locating Hughes on the upper level. And then there it was, that double-fingered point and curl, demanding immediate response.

He climbed the steps slowly and entered the older man's office. It was pretty obvious the other agent wasn't particularly happy to see him.

"I thought I told you to stay home."

"Yes, you did."

"Then why are you here?"

Peter sighed and dropped into a chair. "I was looking for Neal. Did you tell him to stay home too?"

"I imagine he's at the Midtown North precinct house."

"The police?" Peter sat up straighter. "Why?"

"Relax, Peter. Aaron Hotchner, the team leader for the BAU, requested that Neal be assigned to them for their investigation. Apparently he's already provided a lot of detail no one else got."

"He would," Peter mumbled.

"What was that?"

"Neal always pays attention to the details. That's what makes him so good."

Hughes nodded. "Can I ask what you wanted to talk to Caffrey about?"

Peter didn't miss the careful tone in the other man's voice, and it caused him to answer the question with one of his own. "How much do you know about what happened in that bank yesterday?"

"Enough. Peter, I'm very sorry. How is Elizabeth?"

"Shaken up. I'm not sure it's fully hit her yet."

"If there's anything I can do, let me know."

Peter just nodded.

Hughes cleared his throat nervously. "Forgive me if this is intruding, Peter, but it does affect this office. What do you want to talk to Neal about?"

_And there it was, the elephant in the room…_

"I don't blame him, Reese," Peter said, slowly and carefully. "Neither does El. That said, it's good that he's working with the BAU for now, because I need a little time to get past this."

"But you think you _can_ get past it?"

Peter considered that for a moment before answering. "I'm good at my job, Reese. I'm even better at it when I'm working with Neal. That's a lot of motivation to get past… any issues."

"That's good, because I don't want to lose my best team."

"I don't either," Peter whispered.

* * *

Overall, the morning was going well, Neal decided. It was interesting watching the BAU team work, tossing ideas around with each other, building on details someone else caught. It was a lot like the way he and Peter worked.

_And hopefully would work again._

A couple of the tips he had given them were being worked on as well. The forensics team had found the blood on the desk, but hadn't known its significance. The information from Neal bumped the DNA testing up in priority. And the fingerprints he had hypothesized they would find had already turned up a lead.

Wendell Leeds had a long record of arrests, from drug offenses to assault and battery, to armed robbery. A few offenses were pled down to misdemeanors, others not prosecuted due to lack of evidence. He'd done time on one felony conviction for a liquor store robbery.

_And he had been in the supermax when Neal was there, something that sent shivers up and down his spine._

He had to admit, he would have liked Penelope Garcia around when he'd planned some his jobs. Looking at the printout of what she had found in front of him, it seemed like they knew pretty much everything about Leeds from the moment of his birth – except his current address.

_Mozzie was working on that._

By far his favorite moment so far though had been when Hotchner called in the two detectives who had interrogated Neal the night before. There had been something so immensely satisfying about seeing them start to squirm as Aaron calmly, but emphatically, got them to admit that their three hours of questioning had failed to uncover details Neal had willingly divulged to the BAU agents.

The detectives had been dismissed to dig up information on the tattoos.

_Sweet._

There was a knock, and they all looked up as the door opened.

"Peter?"

Peter Burke walked into the room, nodding at his fellow agents.

Hotch stood up, holding out his hand. "Aaron Hotchner."

"Peter Burke. I'm Neal's… partner."

_Partner?_ _That one word gave Neal hope that maybe – maybe – there was some chance of fixing things…_

"I can see why he's been a big help to White Collar."

"Yeah, he is." Peter's eyes flicked to Neal, and then back to Hotchner. "I was hoping to have a quick word with Neal, if that's all right."

Hotch nodded. "Of course." He turned to Neal and continued. "We'll wrap up a couple of things here and meet you at the cars in… ten?"

"Sure." Neal hoped that sounded more confident than he felt at the moment. He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. He waited for Peter to leave and then followed the agent out of the room.

* * *

Peter walked out into the squad room. He wasn't overly familiar with the Midtown North space, He was hoping to see another room they could use, but everything appeared to be occupied. In the end he just headed outside through the side door that led into the official vehicle parking area. He kept going, getting away from the door.

"I'm glad you're helping with this, Neal," he said, not fully turning around yet. "It sounds like you're doing a good job."

"Whatever I can. I really want to nail these guys."

"Me too. So, you're headed out somewhere?"

"Back to the bank. They need to release the crime scene, so Aaron – Agent Hotchner – wants to go over everything one more time."

"Makes sense."

Silence – unnatural between the two men – until Neal finally spoke. "How's Elizabeth?"

Peter knew he wouldn't have even heard the softly-spoken question if they hadn't been standing so close

"She's… coping." Peter finally turned all the way around, facing Neal. "She doesn't blame you for anything, Neal."

"But you do."

_Sometimes Neal's way of skipping right to the point could be unnerving. _"It's complicated," he admitted.

"Peter, please. Tell me what I should have – what I _could_ have – done differently."

The pleading tone in Neal's voice grabbed Peter in the gut, and for a moment he couldn't speak. _He really wasn't good at this emotions stuff._ Finally, he shook his head. "That's not the question, Neal." _So what was…_

"Yeah." Neal ran his hand nervously through his hair and took a deep breath. "Look, we have some good leads. And I think we can find these guys, Peter. So, just one thing. Let me see this through before you send me back. Please."

"Back?" _And there it was, like another blow to the gut. Neal was scared, and hurting every bit as much as Elizabeth…_ "Neal, I'm not sending you back to prison. And the question isn't whether you could or should have done something different, because there's nothing to change."

"So failure was inevitable."

"No." Peter shook his head, his voice rising. "Neal, it's not failure. You survived. El survived…" His voice caught and he had to pause. "Look, I've seen some of the reports, talked to a couple of agents. You couldn't have done anything more, Neal. And helping the BAU now, that's great. As an FBI agent I'd say 'good job." It's just…" He stopped, taking a couple of deep breaths. "It's just that as a husband, I need a little more time to catch up. Does that make sense?"

Neal nodded slowly, staring at the ground. "Yeah, it does." He paused and looked up, meeting Peter's eyes. "Just, you have to know, I'm sorrier for this than for everything else I've ever done combined."

That actually made Peter smile. "That's a lot of sorry."

"Oh, you have no idea."

Peter reached over, putting a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Give me a little time to work through this, Neal."

Neal nodded, but any direct reply was cut off when the door opened behind him and the BAU agents emerged. "I guess I should go."

Peter pulled his hand back as he nodded. "Good luck," he said, as the younger man turned away. "And Neal? We'll talk again soon."

* * *

Neal caught up with them as they reached the black SUVs. _He wondered how many of these standard vehicles the government went through each year. Maybe it was time to look into buying stock._ Aaron pointed him to the first vehicle and he slid into the back seat next to Rossi. Hotchner and Reid got in up front.

He couldn't help it – he stole a glance back across the parking lot, where he could see Peter just getting into his car.

Rossi leaned over. "Everything all right?"

Neal shrugged noncommittally. "As an FBI agent he says good job. As a husband…"

"Any direct death threats?"

Neal smiled despite everything and shook his head. "No death threats."

"Well, I'd say that's a good start."

Hotch pulled out of the lot, and the second SUV, Prentiss behind the wheel, blocked his view of the parking lot. "Yeah, it's a start," he agreed.

…


	6. Chapter 6

"All right, thanks, Garcia." Aaron snapped his phone shut. "There was no match on the DNA from the blood sample."

"He knew his way around that gun," Neal said. "Hard to believe he's not in the system anywhere."

"Maybe ex-military," Prentiss suggested.

"And they won't grant access to their DNA database except to identify bodies," Rossi added.

"Seems like someone should tell them we're on the same side," Morgan grumbled.

"Homeland Security is working on it," Aaron said. "But for now, the DNA is a dead end. And unless we find something new, I need to release the crime scene in a couple of hours. So make sure you look at everything."

Leaving the agents in the main part of the lobby, where he'd already spent way too much time, Neal walked to the office area. He carefully avoided the dark stain that he knew to have been left by Lindy's body and walked toward the desks. The gunmen hadn't been over here, so he wasn't really sure what he thought he might find. And Garcia's initial check on Margaret Kohler had turned up… nothing.

Still, there was something about her behavior that still wasn't _right_, at least in his mind. He found himself at the desk where he had seen her sitting before the whole ordeal had begun.

It was a desk like any other. A computer – that the agents would undoubtedly say they didn't have enough evidence to search. _And a little too big to sneak out in his pocket and get to Mozzie…_

A few files, a small vase with a wilting carnation, some loose change. _Someone should tell her banks weren't a safe place._ A photo…

"Hey!" He grabbed the photo and hurried back to the center desk. Laying it down, he covered the top and the bottom, leaving a narrow strip visible. "What do you see?"

Reid snapped his fingers. "That's the top of the key tattoo that you saw."

Neal nodded and pulled his hands away, revealing the rest of the photo. Margaret Kohler smiled up at them, and around her neck there was a pendant. It was an old-fashioned key, with ornate scrollwork at the top, and twining vines and flowers down the length.

"She was wearing that necklace yesterday."

Aaron was studying the photo, deep in thought. "You're sure."

Neal liked that it sounded more like a statement than a question. "Positive. Like I said, I've had a lot of experience paying attention to details."

"Do you know if it was a unique piece?" Rossi asked.

Neal shook his head. "I wasn't close enough to see if those were real stones."

"So it could be a one of a kind piece, and that's why 'Sig' had it tattooed on his neck," JJ said slowly.

"Or it could be a mass production item that just means something to him, and to Margaret," Emily added.

Aaron looked torn. "This was in plain sight?" he asked Neal.

"Sitting on top of the desk."

"Can we take it?" Rossi asked.

"Outside of the marked crime scene area," Aaron said, sighing. "I really want to get Garcia on this, but we'll need a warrant to seize outside the area. I'll make a call."

"May I?"

Puzzled, Aaron handed the photo back to Neal, and they watched as he returned to Margaret's desk, grabbing a sheet of paper from the copier on the way. He sat down and looked back at the others. "Hey, I'm just a consultant. I'm going to sit here and doodle while you… investigate."

"No law against that," Rossi said. "Plain sight and all."

Aaron nodded in agreement. "I'm still going to ask for a warrant for the computer…"

* * *

Neal had finished his sketch, and had investigated everything else in plain sight on Margaret's desk. _And if that one drawer had just happened to come unlocked… Well, there wasn't anything useful in there anyway._

It looked like the BAU agents were wrapping things up, and he stood to join them. But just then his cell phone rang.

"Moz?"

He grabbed a sheet of paper and scribbled some notes down, asked a few questions, and smiled. "Thanks, Moz." He picked up his sketches and headed toward the others.

"I think we've got everything here," Aaron was saying to a detective. "The officers will stand watch until we can get a warrant through for the computer, but the rest is clear."

The detective nodded and moved away, starting to give orders to a team waiting to clean up the scene.

Neal stepped into the void. "I might have a location on Leeds," he said, holding out a piece of paper with an address.

"We know if he's there now?" Morgan asked.

"He's been seen there," Neal replied. "No idea if he's there now."

"Well, it's something to check out," Aaron said. "Let's go."

Neal caught the agent's arm and held him back. He lifted his left pants leg, revealing the tracker. _No reason that Peter would have called the Marshals this morning. _"Queens is out of my radius," he admitted. "I could go back to Midtown North if you want."

Aaron shook his head and pushed Neal ahead of him. "I had Reese Hughes remove your radius limit when I called to request your help."

Neal grinned. "Queens it is."

* * *

The address in Queens led them to a run-down flat that showed signs of recent habitation, but no one home when they got there. Aaron had gotten a warrant approved on the drive over, and Neal got them in past the flimsy lock in no time. But it didn't take long to search the small space – or to decide that there was nothing to point them in another direction.

Several neighbors confirmed that Leeds lived there. But no, they hadn't seen him for a couple of days. Didn't know what he did for a living, or who his friends might be.

Leaving a couple of plainclothes officers to watch the place, Aaron led his team back to the Midtown North precinct house. They filed back into the conference room and took their places at the table.

JJ hooked up the conference call back to Quantico. "Hey, Garcia. Anything new on Margaret Kohler?" she asked as she turned next to the scanner.

"Nada. Sorry, but she's just squeaky clean. Nothing strange in her bank records, her credit cards, her phone records, or her employment record. Well, she seems to change jobs every few months, with a few short gaps, but always moving up. I guess that's the American dream. Other than the mention in today's paper about the robbery, she hasn't been making the news."

"JJ is sending you a scan of a key," Aaron said. "We know Kohler was wearing a necklace with this on it, and the top matches the portion of the tattoo Neal saw on one of the gunmen. It may turn out to just be costume jewelry, but see if you can come up with anything."

Neal leaned in toward the phone. "Hey, Penelope?"

"Speak, oh Adonis!"

Neal blushed while the others laughed. "Ummm… are you still connected with M… Haversham?"

"Sure am. In between clues we are solving the mystery of the Great Pyramids."

"That's… great." _And at least he knew his laptop hadn't gone over the balcony. Yet._ "If you get him the sketch of the key, he might be able to find something at a tattoo parlor."

Emily pulled out a report. "The detectives didn't find anyone who recognized the partial drawing."

"We have the whole thing now," Reid pointed out. "That might make a difference."

"And there are people who will talk to… Haversham, who won't talk to the police," Neal pointed out.

"Good idea," Aaron agreed. "All right, let's go over what we have one more time."

* * *

Neal walked into his apartment, closed the door, and then leaned wearily against it. The last couple of days had really taken a toll.

He considered opening a bottle of wine, but decided it was too much effort.

Then he considered taking a shower, but that seemed like too much effort too. It could wait until morning.

In the end he simply changed into his pajama pants and fell into bed. And unlike the night before, he slept.

* * *

The Midtown North building was looking very familiar when they gathered again the next day.

Rossi and Prentiss went to interview Margaret Kohler again. They'd play it easy, ask for her help in remembering anything about the robbery. After all, despite their suspicions, there was nothing to directly tie her to any participation.

Reid and Hotchner were staying with JJ to modify their profile and decide on a press strategy.

So that left Morgan and Neal to follow up on the lead Mozzie had provided that morning.

* * *

"Yeah, like I told the short guy. I did the art."

"Is it a stock piece, or a special design?" Neal asked.

"Nah, he brought in this necklace, said that's what he wanted." The tattoo artist ran his hands through his long hair, looking back and forth between the other two men. "Look, what's this about? What'd this guy do?"

"Killed someone," Morgan replied.

The tattooist visibly blanched. "Oh man, that ain't cool."

"Not cool at all," Morgan agreed. "So it would really help if you had his name."

"Man, he paid cash… Oh, but wait! I might have a phone number."

The man disappeared into the back room, and Morgan stepped forward, pushing his jacket aside to leave his gun clear. "Can't hurt to be careful," he said quietly.

Neal just nodded and stepped back, gratified a moment later when the tattooist came back with just a piece of paper in his hands.

"Yeah, here it is. I was supposed to call him when I finished the sketch and was ready to ink."

It was a rough sketch of the key – and there was a local phone number at the bottom.

* * *

"Thomas Carl Wells, age thirty-six. Born in Detroit Michigan. Joined the army out of high school, Dishonorable discharge three years ago. Working odd jobs since then, I'm sending you the list. One arrest – misdemeanor assault, that's why his DNA wasn't on file. There's an address, and current utility bills. On its way to you."

"But still no connection to Margaret Kohler?" Rossi asked.

"Sorry, nothing there. There's nothing to tie her to anything or anyone."

"These guys are good," Emily muttered.

"But maybe…" Neal started, staring at the photo of Margaret that was on the screen. "Where are the files for the other two robberies?"

"What are you thinking, Neal?" Aaron asked as the files were located.

"No ties to anyone," he started, paging through the first file. "And something Garcia said yesterday, about Margaret having gaps in employment." He stopped paging, studied something for a moment, and started to smile. "Penelope, can you pull up the photos of the hostages from the first robbery?"

"For you, Adonis? Anything."

_He must be getting used to her, because he didn't even blush this time._ "I'm looking for Inez Gentry. Put her photo up with Margaret if you can."

"Coming right up."

Neal was paging through the case file from the second robbery. "Second robbery, Penelope. Willa Carruthers."

The photos came up on the screen and Neal stepped up front, looking closer. He studied them for a moment and then turned around, smiling. "Same woman."

The others gathered around. "There are similarities," Emily said.

Neal nodded. "Different hair, it looks like she uses colored contacts too. But the important things are the same. The line of her cheekbones here, the jaw, the eyes themselves." He paused, looking at the others. "Look, I may have hypothetically copied a painting or two in my life. I know a copy when I see it."

Garcia's voice came back over the phone. "Pulling the information on the other two and… very generic. Employment history up to the robberies mostly a number of temporary jobs."

"Harder to trace," Reid noted.

"Exactamundo! And, wait for it… no employment history for either of them since."

"Never expecting someone to check again once the initial investigation was done," Rossi said.

"Sure, just another innocent hostage," Derek added.

"So, one woman, and at least three IDs," Aaron summarized.

"Three IDs that stood up to background checks for the banks." Rossi leaned back in his chair. "That's specialized work."

Neal nodded. "If they had the work done here, there are only a handful of people who could do it."

"Don't worry," Garcia said over the sound of frenetic keyboarding. "Mr. Haversham and I are on it!"

Rossi leaned forward, resting his arms on the table and looking at Neal. "You're very good at this."

"Yeah," Derek agreed. "How'd you wind up on the other side of the law?"

Neal laughed. "I drove two prison psychologists to career changes when they tried to figure that one out." He shrugged. "Take your pick. I was coddled as a child, or I've repressed memories of horrific childhood abuse. I was given too much freedom growing up, or held back. I fell in with the wrong crowd, or I corrupted everyone around me."

"You just found that you had certain talents," Rossi suggested.

"Yeah," Neal agreed. "I was very good at certain things. And one thing led to another…"

"Well, let's hope this leads to some arrests," Aaron said. He sighed in frustration. "I want something more than the photos before we pull her in. If she lawyers up, we've got nothing on finding the other perpetrators, including the actual shooter."

"And guys, with the multiple IDs we know about, we can't even be sure that Margaret Kohler is her real name," Reid pointed out. "There could be more IDs out there too."

"There might be a more direct way to get some information," Neal said slowly, an idea forming.

"What do you have in mind?" Emily asked.

"I go in and talk to Margaret," he started, the wheels turning and the plan falling into place. "I'm just another hostage, right? Except maybe I noticed something that leads me to believe she was involved, and I want a cut of the money to keep my mouth shut." He kicked his left leg up on the table, revealing the tracker. "They already know I may have strayed from the path."

Rossi was nodding, intrigued. "What did you tell them about that?"

"Insider trading. So that works. Obviously, I would have lost my trading license. Maybe things are getting a little tight financially." Neal was nodding to himself. "Yeah, I can come up with a background to make that work."

"If they can set up all these IDs it figures they can check on people too," Reid pointed out.

"Do you have an alias already set up?" Derek asked.

Neal shook his head. "Not that I can use. Elizabeth definitely called me 'Neal' at one point. Maybe they didn't notice, but…"

"We can't take that chance," Rossi said firmly. "Say we do this, how would you make contact?"

"Lindy Hollis' funeral is tomorrow, right? Maybe, as a caring and grieving colleague, she'll attend."

Rossi turned to Prentiss. "Emily, you were playing nice with her."

She nodded. "I could talk to her again. Offer some more sympathy, maybe a ride to the church."

"It would be a good time to get to her," Neal said. "Drop the first hook, try and get her to agree to a meeting."

"I still want to work the leads we have, maybe expand the profile and see what we get," Aaron said. "But this is a good fall-back plan. Figure out what you need for the background, Neal, and get it to Garcia."

* * *

In the end, as hard as they worked, other avenues did not produce the real identities or locations of the four gunmen. Mozzie, however, did find the ID broker who, for a fee, confirmed setting up the known identities for Margaret – as well as several false IDs for men and two more for Margaret. All of that pointed to more jobs planned.

So Neal managed to get Margaret alone after the funeral service. After a brief, but heated, discussion – all recorded, thanks to the mini-mic in Neal's tie pin – another meeting was set. The location was a house, registered to another of the aliases they now knew about.

While Morgan and Rossi scouted the location with leaders of the SWAT teams, looking for observation points and exit routes, Prentiss and Reid kept up surveillance on Margaret Kohler. Aaron and JJ coordinated plans with the FBI and NYPD.

And Neal waited to go on stage.

…


	7. Chapter 7

Neal tugged at the cuffs of the suit jacket, frowning. The fabric seemed cheap compared to what he was used to, and the fit – off the rack! – was just _wrong_. From the standpoint of the con this suit was much more appropriate to a down-on-his-luck disgraced stockbroker than one of Byron's finely tailored suits. And Neal had picked it out himself. Still, it felt like such a step down.

It was more like one of Peter's suits.

_Just a costume. _That's what he told himself, and really, that's all it was. _Like the actor in Miami who had never even seen snow, and yet put on the Santa Claus outfit and pretended to be from the North Pole._

He climbed into the surveillance van to get wired – and stopped short. "Peter?"

Peter smiled – the same smile he always had when he managed to surprise Neal with something. "Neal."

"What are you doing here?"

"There was a request for a surveillance van. You get my van, you get me too."

Neal sat down next to Aaron, taking a tiny transmitter from the BAU agent. He fitted it into his ear, and then sat still while Reid added a tie clip, complete with camera and microphone, to his ensemble.

Aaron nodded at one of the technicians, who put a set of headphones on. "Say something," he instructed Neal.

"It's a beautiful day to catch some bank robbers."

The technician nodded, indicating that the sound was working. But the only thing Neal noticed was that Peter smiled at him.

Aaron touched some controls in front of him and a video screen came to life, flickering briefly and then showing a clear picture of Reid's sweater. Then he picked up a microphone and spoke into it. "Can you hear this?"

"Loud and clear."

Aaron nodded and made a couple of quick adjustments. "Any questions?" he asked Neal.

"The police do know I'm one of the good guys, right?"

"They have specific orders not to fire until I give the order."

"Then I'm good." _Especially with Peter smiling again…_

"Emergency phrase?"

"Stumbling block."

"Don't be afraid to use it."

"I _really_ do not like guns," Neal said, entirely serious now. "Believe me, if guns come out, I'll use the phrase."

"All right." Hotchner picked up a set of keys and handed them to Neal. "Red BMW by the exit."

Neal jingled the keys and smiled. "Showtime."

…

Aaron nodded, jotting down some notes as he held a set of headphones to one ear. "He is very good," the agent said quietly.

Peter smiled and nodded, listening himself. "The best."

They continued to listen as Neal dealt with Margaret and two of the gunmen. He drew them slowly, carefully, but inexorably into the noose.

Finally, Aaron nodded, indicating that they had enough. He picked up the microphone. "That's it, Neal, we've got it. Get out as soon as you can."

This was always the hardest part, waiting for the undercover agent to safely extricate himself. But a few minutes later the camera showed Neal leaving the house, and then Prentiss and Morgan getting him to cover.

Aaron picked up the microphone again. "This is Hotchner. Take them down."

…..

The mood back at the Midtown North precinct had turned from tense to jubilant. Three suspects were in custody, including two of the gunmen. There was still a lot of work to do – interrogations to be conducted, maybe a deal to be cut.

But for the BAU team, their role was done.

They were completing the debriefing, providing the final details for the reports that Aaron would start on the flight home.

"Leeds just gave up another location," Morgan reported as he walked back into the room. "Swears the other two are there, and is begging for a deal."

"I hope he's right," JJ said. "Everyone will sleep better when the other two are caught."

"Very true," Aaron agreed. He stood up and stuffed the last few papers into his briefcase. "This was a good job everyone."

Rossi lifted his coffee cup in Neal's direction. "Due in large part to our temporary team member."

"Hotch, are you sure we can't keep him?" Emily said.

Garcia's excited voice came over the phone. "Yes! Someone hide my Adonis under your coat and bring him back here."

Neal laughed, so at ease with this by now. "Thanks, but I've had quite enough of being kidnapped for a while! I'll tell you what though, Penelope. The next time you're in New York, you give me a call. I will show you a night on the town that you will _never_ forget."

"Oh!" The single word came out almost as a gasp over the phone line. "Oh, only one night?"

"All right, a weekend," Neal conceded, still laughing. "And it'll be even more spectacular if you can convince Peter to extend my radius for a couple of days."

"Oh, pshaw. That tracking database is nothing. I can make it show you on the moon if you want."

Neal lifted his hands and eyes to the ceiling in mock surrender, and then clasped his hands over his chest as though wounded. "Oh, Penelope, would but that you had come into my life before I decided to go straight!"

That got a laugh from everyone, and then Hotch broke in. "All right, the plane's waiting," he announced. "Garcia, we'll see you in the office tomorrow."

"Right. Bye."

Aaron disconnected the call and looked at his team. "Let's get going."

Neal stood with the others, prepared to say goodbye.

JJ gave him a quick hug. "Nice to meet you, Neal."

"You too."

"I enjoyed working with you, Neal," Reid said, hand out. "And tell Haversham thanks too."

"Me too," Neal replied, shaking hands. "And I'll tell him."

"I meant what I said before," Rossi started. "You are very good at this."

"Thank you."

"Maybe we'll work together again sometime," the agent continued as they shook hands.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

"Well, I'd like a night out in New York like you promised Garcia," Emily said.

Neal grinned. "Call me."

"Oh, maybe I will. Think you can handle Garcia and me at the same time?"

"I'd be willing to try."

"Yeah, well, then I'm coming along to chaperone," Derek said. He looked at Neal, pointing a finger. "Because you and me still need to duke it out over this foxy thing."

"I'm not much of a fighter," Neal said lightly.

"I was thinking maybe matching moves on the dance floor, with some lovely ladies to help out."

"Any time."

"Take it easy, my man."

Hotchner followed behind his team, and when he got to Neal he pulled a business card out of his pocket. "Rossi's right. You do have good instincts for this. If anything changes, call me."

"Wait, are you trying to steal my partner?"

Neal looked over to where Peter stood in the doorway and smiled. "Wow, are you two going to fight over me?"

Peter shook his head. "Nope. You are mine for the next seventeen months and change."

"Keep the card anyway," Aaron said. "It never hurts to have someone you can call. And you certainly helped us." He put out his hand. "Thank you."

Neal shook hands, holding the grasp an extra moment. "Thank you for believing me that first night," he said softly. "I really needed that. And it did feel extra good to get these guys."

"Yeah, it's a good feeling." Aaron turned to Peter and shook hands. "I'll send you a copy of my final report."

"Thanks, Aaron."

They watched the BAU agents disappear and then Peter cleared his throat. "So, job hunting behind my back?"

"Hey, I was just doing my job!"

"And doing it pretty well from what I heard," Peter said. "Good job, Neal."

Neal felt a sudden lump in his throat. "Is that coming from the FBI agent, or…"

"That's just Peter Burke saying good job."

"Thanks."

"El's making her lasagna tomorrow night."

"Yeah?"

"She'd like you to come."

Neal caught his breath and then shook his head slowly. "Peter…"

"Let me put it this way, Neal. She has promised to hurt _me_ if you don't show up."

"Wait. She's going to hurt _you_ and not me. Well…"

"Don't even think about it, Caffrey – 7:00, bring wine."

"Right." The exhaustion and stress of the last few days disappeared as Neal followed Peter out of the station. And he knew exactly which wine he'd get…

…


	8. Epilog

_Two months later…_

Her hands trembled as she opened the package and extracted the product. It was awkward, but she managed to follow the instructions to get a good test.

She waited…

Carrying the tester carefully, she walked slowly down the stairs. Peter was sitting on the sofa reading the paper, Satchmo curled up on the floor by his feet, and she wound up next to him.

"Peter?"

He looked up, puzzled at the tone of her voice. She was holding something out to him, and he reached for it.

It took a moment to register what it was, and what it meant.

"El?"

Elizabeth sank down on the couch next to him. "Peter, I'm pregnant."

For a long moment he couldn't speak. _He'd been sterile since a bad case of chicken pox at age twenty five. Several fertility doctors had confirmed it since. So how…_ "Neal?"

El gave a little shrug of her shoulders and nodded. "It's not like there's been anyone else, Peter."

"No, El, I didn't mean..."

"I know, Peter." She took his hand, rubbing her thumb over his palm. "We had talked about artificial insemination, with a donor."

_Yeah, an anonymous donor…_ "But, Neal?"

"It's kind of a surprise to me too, you know."

"Oh, El." He reached out and pulled her in, holding her tight.

She barely recognized her own voice, small and uncertain, as she asked the next question. "What do we do now?"

* * *

**_A/N: So, is this the real future, or just someone's nightmare? Don't know yet, just an interesting concept to think about._**

**_Thanks to those who have sent constructive feedback and asked for this to be finished. It is.  
_**


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